


It's a Kind of Magic

by 74days



Series: Zimbits Meet-Cute Au's [8]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternative First Meeting, I'm just trying out something new here, Ice Magic, Ice Skating, It's not a meet cute but it's a first meeting, M/M, This is a weird one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 09:25:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16699846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/pseuds/74days
Summary: It’s a kind of magic, Hockey players say. Ice magic.





	It's a Kind of Magic

When Eric Richard Bittle is in High School, 6 boys on the Football team grab him from where he is walking in the corridor - they weren’t waiting for him, not really, they just saw him and looked at one another and in the way that friends do sometimes, knew what they were thinking and what they were going to do. 

They grabbed him, pulled and shoved, and locked a hissing, kicking, biting, Eric Richard Bittle into a janitor's closet and laughed. Eric thought he saw someone in the corridor, but it might have just been another kid, a shadow.

Three minutes later, they unlocked the door - pale and shaking. Eric punched the captain of the football team in the face, a large, oversized teenager with a Letterman jacket.

Broke his nose and two teeth (and his own slightly more delicate  metacarpal, but he didn’t realise that till later, when he got home and couldn’t move his hand) with all the strength of a small, angry boy who wore razors on his feet and worked out religiously. He was state champion. He was made of steel wires and ice, wrapped up in lycra and an expression of feigned ease. 

Eric never asked why they let him out. He’d expected the door to remain locked. All he knew was that they unlocked the door and he attacked them out of rage and fury.

He’d spent so long in the rink that he didn’t feel the cold air, or the sharp smell of freshly sprayed ice in the air. 

Didn’t  see the way that shirts were ruffled, like someone with gloved hands had grabbed and lifted, pushing back.

He was never classed as a missing child, no one found him two days later, dehydrated and delirious, locked away and forgotten. His father wasn’t forced by his wife to move to a new school, a new job, a new start. 

Eric Richard Bittle never developed a fear of being checked. And 6 young boys were never asked why they unlocked the door. 

* * *

 

> _ The thing about Hockey Players, you see, is they are a superstitious bunch.  _

* * *

 

Jack is still slightly overweight and he loves Hockey - he really does - but people keep calling him “Bob’s kid” and a couple of kids on his team call him “Lord Stanley” in quiet, laughing voices when adults aren’t around and Jack hates it so much that he wants to scream and throw a punch but he can’t because that would make it worse, show them that he really was just Bob’s Kid, throwing punches before he’d even scored his first point in a real game. He’s not even on the ice right now but he’s sweating under his gear and his hands are shaking and the air is cold and burns all the way down. 

He’s already been to therapists, because his mother knows what stress looks like and wants Jack to know that he can talk to someone who isn’t related to him, someone who can help him see it’s not the end of everything if he doesn’t score that goal, or live up to the gossip around him. 

He’s trying to remember the breathing exercises that he’s been taught, trying to remember the right number of ins and outs - but Kenny is there, and Kenny is grinning and bouncing on his skates like he just can’t wait to get on the ice and play some good hockey. 

Jack knows he’ll never be able to look at the ice and love it with as much pure joy as Kenny and it makes him love and hate the blond boy more than he knows how to put into words. Kenny makes everything both too loud and too quiet inside Jack, like there is something there that he’s still too young to figure out but he knows it’s important. 

He slips out of the locker room and his coach doesn’t notice but Kenny does, frowning a little, but he’s Jacks best friend and Jack knows that he won’t tell an adult. He’s breathing too fast, but he can hear something, a beat - almost like a heart, almost like his heart, but slow and steady and not rabbiting too fast that he feels like he’s going to burst all over the quiet hallway. He follows it, because why not? He’s already going to be in trouble for leaving the pep talk. 

The beat becomes louder, and Jack finds himself at the ice - looking out. The doors haven’t opened yet, and the stands are empty, but he can feel the beat in his bones, vibrating up his legs and thrumming in his gut, still soft with age. He has red lines there, from where he’s starting to grow too fast for his skin to keep up, but he can’t think about them when he sees the person on the ice. 

He’s tall, taller than Jack - taller than Bad Bob even, maybe - and he’s skating around the ice fast and steady as the beat slows Jacks heart down. He’s wearing full gear, colours in blue and gold that Jack hasn’t ever seen before - and he’s spent all his life knowing, studying, devouring Hockey. He’s steady and fast and Jack knows that he’s loving the clean ice - the smooth glass surface, stick hardly making a sound as he moves the puc over the sheer, smooth glide. Jack can hear him breathing, ever though he’s so far away. The man pauses for a moment, hardly a split second - twists his body and shoots for the net. 

The puc flies in and there are no lights, no klaxon, no noise other than the slow, steady beat that Jack’s heart is making in his chest as he watches. 

The player punches the air, and Jack can hear him - he’s laughing, loud and joyous and Jack smiles because he knows that feeling, knows what it’s like to want to crow so loud that your throat hurts. He’s smiling and his heart is steady as a metronome and Jack knows that no matter what, no matter what the other kids say, or what Coach says, or Kenny or anyone - Jack knows that he loves hockey as much as this player and nothing they say will change that. 

He blinks, and when he opens his eyes, the player in the middle of the rink is gone, and all Jack can feel is the steady beating of his heart and the echo of pure, joyous laughter in his ears. 

He gets yelled at for missing the pep talk. Kenny makes funny faces behind the coaches back but Jack doesn’t feel the pit of dread in his gut as disappointing coach. He waits with Kenny for the klaxon, bouncing on his skates, and when he scores, he punches the air and laughs, heart thumping loudly in his chest as his team cheer around him. His parents are there, in the stands, and Jack waves over at his father - sees the laughter and the pride and he knows in that moment. Knows that he doesn’t need to be Bad Bob. He just needs to be Jack. 

His therapist never prescribes him any medication. He never misses the draft. 

* * *

 

> _ It’s a kind of magic, Hockey players say. Ice magic. _

* * *

 

Eric has soft hands and a hard head - and he’s fast. He’s so fast that no one else on his co-ed team can keep up. Coach sends video out. 

Scholarships return. 

Offers too. Eric weighs them all up with his parents and makes a decision. He had no idea what he wants to do at College anyway, and it’ll always be there once he’s done. It’s more money than he’s ever seen, but he hardly cares. He belongs on the ice. The Preds are a good team and Eric thinks he looks good in yellow. 

* * *

 

> _ Time slows down and speeds up on the ice. It’s a kind of magic. _

* * *

 

Jack doesn’t need to worry when pictures eventually find their way around - his boyfriend is at school to be a lawyer and Jack doesn’t need to prove that he’s a good hockey player. He’s traded to the Falconers and although the journalists try to make it look like it’s a demotion, Jack is Captain after his first year, and lifts a cup twice after that. He finds the yellow and blue comforting. Someone calls him “Lord Stanley” and Jack just laughs. 

He got the taste of it as a kid, he grins. His boyfriend buys him pride tape for his stick and Jack blows him a kiss when he scores and doesn’t give two shits about what anyone else thinks. 

* * *

 

> _ It can warp things, the ice. You can glide over it faster than lightning, stop on a dime. Things move fast on the ice, they say. Superstitions start like that.  _

* * *

 

Eric is Captain of his team and resplendent in gold. Hockey isn’t big in the South, but Eric is - he’s carved his name into the ice and he’s got silver in his sights. They’re playing to win and Eric is faster than anyone.

Parse has kept Eric’s team from the finals more than once, and Eric is done playing nice - he’s here to win. Both are fast, but Eric has a hunger Parse forgot to take into account, and he’s two seconds too slow as Tricky Dicky slams him into the boards, stealing the puc and moving faster than lightning. It wouldn’t have worked on any other player - Eric knows that. He’s still shorter, still lighter. But faster, and he’s got something to prove. 

* * *

 

Jack loves finals. He loves how pumped the crowds are, loves the posters and the cheering - loves the tacky merch he already knows both teams have made up just in case they win tonight and need to sell “Stanley Cup Winners” shirts after the game. Shitty is out there, in the front row. He’s come so he doesn’t leave Jack without anyone to blow a kiss to after he scores, and Jack loves that, even though he no longer loves Shitty in the same way he used to. It’s okay though - he lost his boyfriend and got a best friend. It doesn’t hurt, not at all, and Jack winks at Lardo who is decked out in all the colours of the pride flag as he flies past where they are sitting. He likes her, likes the way Shitty looks at her. 

Tater is nervous, because Tater doesn’t like not knowing what to expect, and Jack skates around him a couple of times just to make the larger man smile. The Preds have come from nowhere this season, their new Captain is fast as sin and Jack thinks it’s going to be a helluva match tonight, but his heart is steady and the cheering of the crowd is shaking the rafters and no matter what, no matter if they win or lose, Jack loves this moment.

His parents are here - sitting beside Shitty and Lardo and his dad is wearing his Jersey with “Dad Bob” written on the top which makes Jack laugh every time he sees it. 

He’s not his father, but thats okay. 

The puc drops, and just before it hits the ice, Jack feels time slow right down. The ice can do that, he knows - it’s a kind of magic. He glances up, and looks into large, warm, brown eyes.

* * *

 

> _ Time stops _

* * *

 

Jack is standing in a corridor he doesn’t know, but that’s not what grabs his attention. There are kids, maybe 6 of them, fighting in front of him. The smaller blond kid is struggling, kicking and clawing like a cornered cat, but he’s small and there are too many of them.

They open a door, throw him and and lock it. 

Jack’s heart is racing - he’s pumped up from the crowd he can almost hear in the back of his mind, and he moves before he can think about it. It’s not ice under his skates, but he moves like it was, sending a spray when he grabs the first kid - the biggest, the leader, and lifts him up with on hand. He’s in full gear, and the kid is probably not even old enough to shave.

“Open the door.” He growls, and then… and then…

* * *

 

He’s on the ice, but it’s not his home ice, not the Falconers rink. It’s smaller, but he knows it. He spent a lot of time here. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a kid, short. He’s got the look of a pre-teen just about to hit a growth spurt that’ll strip all that baby fat away. He looks pale, his hands are shaking. Jack doesn’t need to get any closer to tell that the kid is sweating under his gear. Jack knows. 

He shoots. 

He scores. 

And he laughs. 

* * *

 

The puc hits the ice, and Eric can’t move for a second. All he can see are blue eyes, like the sky on a warm summer day, or the ocean sparkling in the sunlight. 

* * *

 

> _ It’s like magic, they say. It’s hard to describe. _

* * *

 

Eric sees himself running across the ice. He’s wearing clothes he’s never owned before, a blue and yellow jersey that’s obviously not meant to see ice time, and he sees himself running towards Jack Zimmerman, who looks slightly different. He looks older, with lines under his eyes and a cut over his chin, but not old. Like he’s seen too much of the world. Eric think’s he looks tired. Nothing like the laughing Captain of the Falconers that he sees in interviews. But he watches himself, running. He’s smaller too - like he hadn’t been bulking up for years trying to hit a weight target just out of his reach - but he’s laughing and his eyes are shining and Eric knows he’s never looked like that. He’s never looked so happy. 

And then he watches as Jack Zimmerman kisses him. 

And Eric knows about ice magic and he knows about what it can do, and he knows that this is not him, and that is not Jack.

But it _could_ be.

* * *

 

The puc hits the ice and Eric snaps back to reality and he is staring at Jack Zimmerman and Jack Zimmerman is staring at him and somewhere someone is yelling.

* * *

 

> _ Jack smiles. _
> 
> _ Eric smiles back. _

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a bit of a weird one and I know it's not quite a meet cute, but it is a first meeting and... I like it!  
> I had this idea for the longest time just cooking in the back of my head so I thought I'd put it out there and see how it goes. I don't think it's my regular style but I'm always trying to change things up and try new things, so... yay!
> 
> Prompt was: Ice Magic. 
> 
> follow me on Tumblr or buy me a kofi or just say hi!!


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